It was supposed to be the best day of my life—our wedding day. But instead of saying “I do,” I stood frozen in the middle of the hall as two police officers walked toward me, holding a photo of my fiancé.
I met Andrew six months ago at an art museum, thanks to a friend who invited me. There he was—tall, with messy dark hair, paint smudges on his hands, and a smile that could make you forget your own name.
That night, he was showcasing his surreal landscape paintings. When I approached one, he appeared beside me.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Honestly? It’s beautiful. Breathtaking,” I said, distracted by him rather than the painting.
From that moment on, we were inseparable.
He loved casual dates with food from street vendors and long walks. He lived in a small studio apartment surrounded by canvases stacked high.
He was friendly, passionate, and exceptionally talented. Just four months into our relationship, he proposed. How could I say anything but ‘yes’?
But my father wasn’t pleased.
“A man with nothing but paintbrushes and a dream?” he shouted. “Do you really believe he loves you for who you are, Serene, or does he want your family fortune?”
He refused to give us his blessing, and although my mother stayed neutral, I could tell she wasn’t thrilled either.
I still believed in Andrew.
The morning of the wedding was busy but joyful.
Then, as the ceremony was about to begin, something felt off. Andrew was missing. The ceremony was supposed to start at 2 p.m., but 45 minutes passed, and whispers started among the guests.
Just as I was about to contact him again, the doors opened, and two officers walked in.
“Ma’am,” one of them said, approaching me. “Do you know this man?”
“That’s my fiancé. That’s Andrew! What’s going on?”
“We regret to inform you, but your fiancé has been arrested. He broke into your family’s estate today and attempted a robbery.”
They asked me and my parents to come with them.
Instead of taking us to the station, the officers drove us to an old warehouse on the outskirts of town.
When I stepped inside, I was stunned.
There were paint cans scattered everywhere, and old brushes were lying around. It felt like Andrew’s studio.
On one wall, there was a massive mural—a stunning painting of a bride and groom.
In the corner, it read:
“Forever yours, Andrew.”
Andrew emerged from behind a canvas, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“It’s my wedding gift to you, Serene,” he said, motioning to the mural. “I wanted to give you something that would last forever, something that showed my love. The officers are actors I hired to make the moment unforgettable.”
For a moment, my father just stared at him. Then, to my surprise, he chuckled.
“Well, I’ll give you this,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’ve got talent. And guts. I don’t fully trust you, but you’ve earned my respect.”
I ran to Andrew and embraced him, laughing and crying at the same time.
We returned to the venue, where Andrew explained everything to our confused guests. My father even offered a drink to Andrew during the reception, admitting that he might have been wrong about him.
In the end, I realized that love doesn’t always follow perfect timing or logic. Sometimes it takes trust, creativity, and a bit of risk.
